Page 51 of Life, Love, and Other Messes

I stumbled from the car to my house, catching myself on my porch column, then the door. I couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t make it stop. I moved like a zombie, tripping over the living room chair on my way to spring Ollie from his crate. He almost knocked me over in his excitement, but I barely noticed, just moved through the kitchen to the back door, grazing the doorframe in the process. I can’t. I’m so fucked up. I’m so hideously, gloriously fucked up and I hate myself and I just want to hurt. I can’t feel anything, I just need to hurt. Please God, let me feel something. I hit the wall with my whole forearm, knocking something off the other side. I turned around once, twice, as if I couldn’t find the bathroom in my own house. I didn’t turn on the lights. I didn’t want to look at my own reflection. The nightlight glowed golden near the sink though, so I snatched open the medicine cabinet before I could see myself. I slid my hand across the shelves, knocking pill bottles and tweezers and my contact case out and into the sink. Some things bounced onto the floor. Where is it? God damn it, where is it? I hid the razorblade sometimes, when I was in a decent mood, and I’d managed to stymie myself. Please God, where the fuck is it?

I couldn’t find it. I gave up, sat on the edge of the tub, and forced my hands through my hair. I closed my eyes tightly and willed everything to just stop. That was when I heard a knock on the storm door and a voice in the other room.

It was Lisa. Lisa, back from the beach. “Sam? You in here? Your door was open.”

I tried to respond twice, but nothing came out. I was quite sure I didn’t want to see her, but I finally managed to say “hey.”

“Hey. Can I let Ollie in?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

I said a silent prayer that Ollie would leave me alone. Fortunately, I heard him slurping water in the kitchen. Lisa, on the other hand, poked her head into the bathroom. Her words were hesitant. “You okay?”

There was no point in lying. “Not really.”

She made a move toward the light switch, but didn’t touch it. Surely she could see the mess I’d made of the medicine cabinet. Instead, she pointed to the edge of the tub. “Is there room for me?”

There was space, but I knew she was really asking permission. “Yeah.”

“So what’s going on?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“What happened to your car?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Did it happen tonight?” She nudged a little closer to me.

I knew she was searching for the scent of alcohol. “I had half a glass of wine. I’m not drunk.”

“Okay. So what’s going on?”

I let out my breath slowly. If I was going to lose someone else, it might as well be tonight. “I’m off my meds.”

Lisa nodded evenly, like that made sense. “What kind of meds?”

“Antidepressants and mood stabilizers and antipsychotics,” I whispered.

“That’s a lot to go off of.”

“You can leave now if you want.”

Lisa’s voice was still completely matter-of-fact. “Nope. Not leaving. How come you’re off your meds?”

“I can’t write when I’m on them.”

“Not at all?”

“Well, sort of, but it’s hard. So hard. Nothing comes out right. And when I have a deadline or it just gets too much…”

Lisa shrugged like that made sense. “You go off your meds.”

“Yes.”

“How long ago did you stop taking them?”

“Sunday maybe? Saturday?”